


Understanding

by mj4x



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU kind of?, Alcohol, Angst, Avengers Tower, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Civil War happened but they figured it out, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Marijuana, Mild Blood, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Please don't read if you're not into these things, Protective Bucky Barnes, Reader-Insert, Recreational Drug Use, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Smoking, Weed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2019-07-15 19:23:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16069670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mj4x/pseuds/mj4x
Summary: You were just supposed to be his dealer, but soon Bucky realizes there's more to you than what meets the eye.





	1. Chapter 1

“Steve, I uh-” Sam runs a hand down his face and sighs, crossing his arms afterwards, “I have an idea. Something that might help Barnes.” He glances at the brunette sitting on the couch.

Bucky’s still, his features somber and hardened. Even though the tv is on, he isn’t paying attention. His gaze is unfocused, the sounds and voices coming from the electronics and the other Avengers in the room are muffled, drowned into background noise.

He’s thinking of what he’s done. As he always is. This very place he’s in reminds him. The dark-haired man holding a glass of whiskey on the other side of the room reminds him too. Howard Stark’s son.

He’s living under the roof of the man whose parents he killed. Bucky can still hear them begging.

It all disgusts him. HYDRA, this _weapon_ attached to his shoulder, the Winter Soldier… Everything he did, everything he was.

Bucky blinks a couple times, his senses slowly returning to normal. He looks around silently, relaxing once he realizes none of the other Avengers are paying attention to him. He likes it this way, to be invisible. He was like this in Romania, he felt normal. For the first time in many decades, he found some sort of peace; in a shitty and small apartment in Bucharest, but he found it. The constant fear of being recognized was still deep inside of him at first, but after a few months everything became easier. Until all of what he had built came crashing down.

He’s thinking too much about the past again. The psychiatrist said he shouldn’t do that.

_What you did all those years, it wasn't you. You didn't have a choice._

Steve tells him that almost every day, but Bucky doesn’t believe it. He didn’t have a choice, no, but _he_ still did it. The nameless faces that plague his nights wouldn’t exist otherwise.

Sometimes he thinks of how much better the world would have been without the Winter Soldier. He thinks of how easier everything would have been if the Soviets hadn’t found him, if he had just fucking died when he fell from that train.

Everything around him is so foreign. From the technology to his own hometown. Even his name, _Bucky_. It’s still strange to hear people call him that.

He’s tired from all of this.

“What are you suggesting?” Steve asks from his place next to Sam and away from the others.

Sam muffles a chuckle, clearing his throat after Steve quirks a brow, “You’ll have to promise me you won’t freak out.”

 

[…]

 

The American flag near the school’s entrance waves softly due to the light summer breeze that blows. The sky is blue and the sun is shining brightly, the temperature starting to rise.

Voices and shouts are heard louder and louder as Bucky and Sam cross the street. Bucky adjusts the cap shadowing his face and makes sure the glove on his metal hand is secured when Sam heads towards the several hordes of people mingling in front of the school.

The steps that lead to the entrance are occupied by teenagers either standing or sitting, all socializing amongst themselves. The shadows cast by the few trees scattered throughout the grass are occupied by groups of teens either holding textbooks or their laptops.

Sam stops on the sidewalk in front of the school with his hands on his hips. The aviators perched on the bridge of his nose are lifted as he looks around, searching the area.

“You brought me to a school.” Bucky states in disbelief as he dodges a teenager that runs by.

Sam sends him an amused look and keeps eyeing the large mass of people. The bell rings and the street becomes less crowded, the teens rushing to enter the school. After a few seconds of looking around, Sam’s head stills. Brown eyes remain focused on the girl _,_ full lips now stretched into a grin as he starts to walk.

On the far right of the grass carpet that covers the front of the school, there’s a group of four people. Bucky notices three girls and a boy. Two of the girls are dancing while the other girl and the boy are sitting on the grass below a tree, bobbing their heads to the rhythm with smiles on their faces.

Sam approaches the group with Bucky in tow, the latter falling behind on purpose.

They’re young, Bucky notices, but not as young as the teens in this school. His brain automatically starts looking for threats in these people, analyzing each one of them the best he can. He watches the only man in the group first, carefully and intently. Straight, short blonde hair that filters the sun and sky-colored orbs that eye him casually, before flickering to Sam. The pale skin of his chiseled jaw is adorned with blonde stubble, plump lips curled around the edge of a cigarette. Reminds him of Steve.

The young woman sitting next to the blonde watches him too, although more skeptical than the latter. Dark brown eyes look Bucky over several times, lips pouting from concentrating. Her brown hair is straight but disheveled, a few strands of her bangs in front of her eyes. The dark olive skin of her stretched legs glistens under the sun and the tips of her bright red sneakers knock together with a soft _thud_ while her fingers claw at the grass around her body.

 

* * *

 

Johnny lowers the music volume and immediately receives a glare from you and Felicia who were in the middle of some sick dance moves. He takes a drag off the cigarette between his fingers before motioning with it behind you.

Felicia pulls her platinum hair into a messy bun and sits on the grass next to Johnny, taking a drag off his cigarette after flashing you a smirk. You turn and find Sam Wilson’s brown eyes and cheeky features staring right back at you. A bright smile spreads across your lips and you take a step towards him, “Hey, bird man!”

“C’mon! Do you call Clint that?!” Sam laughs, accepting your side hug, “How’s it going, guys?”

Your friends mumble their greetings and flash smirks at Sam, who snickers at your side. Kamala nudges your ankle, so you turn and happily take the joint she has between her fingers. Your lips curl around it as you take a drag and let the smoke crawl inside your lungs, sighing contently as you blow the smoke away from Sam in front of you.

Sam’s brows rise, “Can you even do that?”

“What?”

“Smoke weed in public.”

You shrug, a grin on your lips, “Probably not. Arrest me.”

Sam’s head falls, shaking from side to side.

You notice a man behind him, a cap shadowing most of his face and a jacket covering his torso even though it’s summer. The acrid smell of the burnt marijuana starts to fill the air and you chuckle when you see his nose wrinkle. Your gaze returns to Sam’s and you gesture behind him with the joint, “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, uh-” Sam steps aside and you finally get a full view of the man. Well built, tall, firm jaw and dimpled chin. Cute. You can also distinguish his blue eyes through the shadow casting down on them, “This is-”

“Bucky.” Bucky interrupts suddenly, his voice gruff. When everyone’s gazes turn to him, he clears his throat and speaks a little louder, “I’m Bucky.”

You widen your red-rimmed eyes at Sam mockingly before looking at Bucky, “Well, nice to meet you Bucky.” You take another drag off the joint and hand it to Johnny, turning towards Bucky again and gesturing behind you haphazardly, “That’s Kamala, or Kam.” The girl with the red sneakers waves at him briefly with an unamused expression on her features, swiping her bangs to the side afterwards, “Johnny.” The blonde salutes Bucky, managing a lopsided grin around the joint perched on his lips, “And that’s Felicia.” The platinum haired girl smiles brightly towards him, taking a generous bite of the sandwich she’s holding right after.

Twirling your hand next to your head, you state your first name, a goofy grin stretching your lips at Bucky’s amazed expression.

You open your mouth to bombard Sam with questions about the Avengers and the recent events, but before you can voice anything he cuts you off, “Why do you hang around here? Do you even go to high school anymore?”

Both your brows rise, and you scoff when you hear Johnny snort behind you, “Wow, Sam. Do I look like a sixteen-year-old? Thank you, but no. I’m freaking twenty-two, dude.” You punch his muscled arm, huffing when he doesn’t react.

“Like that’s much of a difference.” Sam shrugs, the corner of his lip twitching as he teases you.

“Ah! How dare you?” You say loudly, feigning outrage, “Well… Uhh, look who’s talking, _old man_!”

“Everyone’s an old man to you!”

“’Cause everyone’s older than me!”

Bucky observes the banter amused, but also slightly shocked at how openly you’re all smoking. This smell… He doesn’t really enjoy it, but it reminds him of the times he used to smoke with his girlfriends in the 30’s. Steve was never able to try it back then, his lungs couldn’t take it.

Bucky snickers inwardly, though. So, this was Sam’s plan. _Weed_. He’s not complaining, he just never thought Steve would go along with it, or if it would work because of the serum; but then again, Bucky’s is a much less perfected knockoff of Steve’s. If he remembers correctly, the feeling is… amazing, freeing, relaxing. Exactly what he needs according to the psychiatrist, although he’s sure the doctor didn’t mean marijuana.

“Anyways, yeah, no, I’m just keeping an eye on that kid Peter.” You say casually, crossing your arms. Your brow lifts at the confusion that crosses Sam’s features and you lean in, whispering, “You know, Spider Boy, or is it Man? I don’t know Sam.” The man in front of you doesn’t show any signs of understanding so you glance over your shoulder briefly, just to check if your friends are paying any attention. They’re not. They’re just chatting quietly and lighting another joint. So, you hiss, “The _only_ fifteen-year-old you fought in Germany!?”

“Oh!”

“Oh!” You mirror Sam in fake awe, grinning when he glares at you, “Stark asked me to. It has something to do with the kid’s _internship_.” Your eyes widen and your brow rises, head tilting slightly in a silent question. Does Sam know you’re not actually referring to an internship?

He nods slowly, but his face maintains its clueless look.

You’ll take that.

As if on cue, you spot Peter in the distance, walking along the sidewalk hurriedly with his backpack slung over his shoulder and a few books in hand. You smile. The kid’s such a sweetheart.

“Penis Parkeeeeer!” Flash bursts through the school’s entrance with a couple colleagues behind him. He bumps into Peter, the boy’s books falling from his grip. Their mouths are moving but you can’t hear what is being said. When a loud cackle exits through Flash’s mouth though, you start walking, ignoring Sam’s protests.

“Hey Flash!” You can’t control your legs as they start heading towards the teenagers, your feet stomping the grass beneath. Their heads turn to your approaching form and the grins are wiped off their faces, leaving only panicked expressions, “Why don’t you fuck off?” You shout, still a few feet away from them.

Flash swallows, taking a step back. He glances at the others who, in turn, are staring at him, “Uh- What are y-you going to do, s-s- _stoner_?”

“ _Stoner?_ Oh, I’ll kick your fucking ass!” And with that you pick up your pace, your slow steps turning into a sprint. You nearly crack a rib trying to hold in your laugh when they start running away with panicked shouts leaving their throats.

You reach Peter, both of you bursting into giggles. His textbooks are picked up and you slide inside them the sheets that had fallen off, “Here you go.”

“Thank you, but you didn’t have to do that.” He says, gaze ghosting yours before flickering to the group of people in the distance.

“’Course I did.” You smile as your hands fly to adjust his hoodie. You pat his shoulder, “Have a nice day, kiddo.”

You walk back to the tree and bow, one arm folded across your belly and the other extended to the side, when greeted with claps and whistles. Even Bucky has a smile on his lips, you notice.

Kam high-fives you excitedly from her place on the grass, her, Johnny and Felicia proceeding to giggle about something irrelevant, clearly stoned, and you turn back to Sam, “I have what you asked for.” Your tote bag is snatched from the ground and you bite your bottom lip when you grab the see-through bag and show it to him, “Sooo, here’s the grinder, the rolling paper, the filters, which you can use or not, up to you, but I think you should, yeah? I threw a lighter in there too ‘cause I was feeling generous, and here’s the actual weed!” Your index finger points at the small bag frantically, the small green buds shaking. A giggle bursts out of you, your eyes wide and lips forming a huge smile, “Exciting, right? Oh, and the rolling papers are those Pouch ones, you know? No spillage, super easy, ‘cause you said this was for a beginner. Unless these are for you, Sammyyyyy. Are you smoking again?” Your head tilts and an exaggerated pout forms in your lips as you look up at him.

Bucky can only stare at you, something akin to shock and worry etched onto his face. Is this what he was like when he got high?

Sam has his hands up, palms facing forward, taken aback at the amount of words that just came out of your mouth in such a short amount time, “Woah.” He blinks, “Okay, you’re high. In about five minutes you’ll either be more energetic or passing out, and I don’t want to be around when that happens. Please be quick.”

A light huff eases past your mouth and you shake your head, “Oh no, I just ate these sweets CJ gave me like just before you got here and then I smoked, and I had smoked before an-” Your eyes focus back on Sam’s that glare at you, “Right, sorry! I’m rambling again and you have no idea what I’m talking about. Hum, right. Here-” You extend your hand over Sam’s but just as the bag is sliding off your grip, you tighten it again, “Wait, who is this for?”

In front of you, an exasperated sigh leaves Sam, “Does it matter?!”

“You know it does, dude! Beginners that are supplied by me, must smoke their first with me. Capiche?”

“I’m not exactly a beginner…” Bucky says quietly, but it’s enough to catch your attention.

Sam closes his eyes and hangs his head with a groan.

You smirk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just something I've been working on for the past few months! Thought bringing weed into the MCU would fit in well with some characters and everything that's happened to them, especially Bucky  
> Hope you guys like it, feedback is appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

“So, Bucky-”

“Do we have to talk?”

After a lot of begging from you and groans from Sam, you convinced him to let Bucky smoke with you. You kept the kit to make sure he’d actually come and said goodbye to your friends for today because you noticed how uncomfortable he was around many people.

It’s the next day and you’re on the fire escape of your shitty studio apartment in East Village. The air is humid and warm, growing hotter each day due to the June sun that shines strong. The taller buildings cast a shadow over the street, protecting you and Bucky from the sun rays, although the air is still stuffy.

Bucky wears the same brown jacket from yesterday despite the high temperatures, and he’s glad you don’t question it. You don’t mention the glove covering his left hand either. He removed the cap once he entered the apartment though, so you get a full view of his cerulean eyes and stubbled jaw.

You cross your legs as you sit next to the widow, motioning haphazardly for Bucky to take a place in front of you when he stands awkwardly in the corner for too long, “Do you know how to roll one?” You ask, ignoring his previous question completely.

Bucky lowers himself into a sitting position as best as he can in the small space, ending up with his legs spread on each side of you, the steps that lead upstairs next to his left. His hands fidget in his lap, nervous at the closeness, at the questions, at being alone with a stranger- “I’m not really sure.”

Your gaze lingers on him for a moment before you reach inside the window and return with a textbook and the bag from yesterday. The Calculus II textbook lands between you and Bucky; by the way his brows furrow, you feel the need to clarify, “We’ll be using that as a _table_ , yeah?” The bag is placed on top of the book and you lean forward, elbows perched on your knees, “Show me what you remember.”

Bucky stills for a moment, “What I _remember_?”

“Yeah, yesterday you told me last you smoked was a long time ago.” You reply casually, eyes focused on the items you’re taking out of the bag and placing on top of the textbook.

Bucky’s pretty sure he didn’t tell you that.

Your eyes meet his, “C’mon!”

He gulps but reaches for the weed nevertheless. There’s that tiny voice at the back of his head that asks _What if she’s with them?_

Bucky throws a few buds inside the grinder like he saw your friends do yesterday. They didn’t have these… _gadgets_ back in his time. His gaze moves to you: your cheeks are against your fists, plumping your lips together. The eyes previously focused on his hands flicker to his face, the corner of your lip lifting in an innocent smile-

No. Oh god, what if you _are_ with HYDRA? He doesn’t want to go back, he can’t go back, he-

“Hey, you okay?”

His eyes snap to yours again. Your brows are slightly furrowed, mouth agape as you look at him concerned. He nods, swiping the sweat that has formed on his forehead before continuing to twist the grinder.

“Jeez, you really do need to smoke one.” You chuckle, regretting it as soon as you notice the look the brunette sends you. Swallowing, you return your gaze to his hands, “That’s good.”

Bucky places the grinder on top of the textbook and leans back against the balustrade, his hands on his lap.

“Are you done? Do you want me to do the rest?” You ask after a few seconds of him sitting still. Bucky nods so you fold the filter, reaching for the rolling paper afterwards. Your eyes flicker to him occasionally, “You don’t talk much, do you?”

“No.”

You hum, keeping your mouth shut for a few minutes as you dump the weed into the paper and begin rolling it.

Bucky observes in silence, glad you’re able to respect his quietness. He wasn’t sure you’d be, given your state yesterday.

Cars honk and voices are heard from the streets around the building as you both sit in the fire escape. He watches the way your skilled fingers move and twist around the joint. Your hair gets in the way occasionally, so you push the strands with the back of your hand. The corner of Bucky’s lips twitches for a moment as your eyes narrow and brows frown in concentration.

The tip of your tongue swipes across the edge of the rolling paper briefly, before it licks your lips as you hand Bucky the joint, “Here.” You snatch a lighter from the pocket of your shorts and give it to him, biting your bottom lip in anticipation.

Bucky places the joint between his lips and reaches for the neon pink lighter, trying not to flinch when your fingers brush his. When the joint is lit he takes a drag, closing his eyes as the smoke crawls up his lungs.

He smokes it like this for a few minutes and you don’t dare disturb him. You only lean your head against the brick wall of the building and submerge yourself in thoughts. In thoughts of that guy you’re meeting up with later today, of the subjects you must study for this semester, of Kamala’s party next week, of-

“Thank you.”

Your head lulls to the side, eyes connecting with Bucky’s. A smile spreads across your lips and he returns it, albeit stiff and a bit forced. You return your gaze to the street.

“Why do you smoke?” Bucky asks quietly, trying to sound nonchalant. He isn’t supposed to care, you’re just his dealer. But he _is_ curious as to how the hell you know Sam, although he’s not going to be that blunt and ask.

You huff, running a hand through your hair, “Oh, that’s… that’s a long story.” After a few seconds of silence, you turn your head and find Bucky staring at you expectantly. You snort and shake your finger, “No, no, no. Why are _you_ smoking?”

Bucky takes a drag off the joint, “To relax,” He exhales the smoke upwards, “To forget too.” His voice is stronger and more confident. Did he always sound like this? “How do you know Sam?” Okay, there goes the subtlety.

“His sister was my friend.” You reply shortly, not disclosing anything else about the subject.

_Was?_

Before Bucky can ask anything else, you speak, “Are we playing a game?” Your finger wiggles between you both, “You ask me a question, I ask you a question. Is that what we’re doing?”

“Maybe.” _What?_ Why did he say that? He hates questions.

Bucky feels nice and mellow and hazy, the smirk on his lips wants to morph into a full smile. _She’s pretty_ , he thinks, _but also suspicious._ No. _Mysterious_ , that’s the word he’s looking for. His smile doesn’t waver.

“Oh god, I’m too sober for that. You on the other hand…” You rise to your knees and lean forward, tilting Bucky’s head so that his eyes are in the light. The blue surrounded pupils shrink when faced with light, the white of his eyes tinted red. You smirk and lift your hand, “Congratulations, Bucky. You’re high.” 

It takes Bucky a moment to come back to himself and high five you, his mind still stuck on the warmth of your digits against his jaw, and now his hand.

Touch. He hadn’t realized he craves it so much.

You settle back against the wall and Bucky extends his arm to you, offering the joint, but you wave your hand dismissively, “No, that one’s yours.”

He takes one last drag before stubbing the end, “I thought you were gonna smoke with me.”

“Nah, that was just an excuse to get a handsome man into my house.” He looks at you slightly alarmed, so you clarify quickly, “I’m just messing with you! I’m just not in the mood today. Hope you don’t mind.” You flash Bucky an apologetic smile, not giving him time to reply as you change into a crouching position and start to place the items back inside the bag, “I also hope you took notes, ‘cause I won’t be at the Tower to roll your joints in the future. I mean, you can always ask Sam, if he’s around. He probably remembers how.”

He’s not sure if it’s because he’s high, but he completely ignores the part where you mention the Tower even though he didn’t tell you he’s staying there. His brain only seems to pick up _Sam_ and the opportunity to learn information to taunt the Falcon with. Bucky smirks, “Sam used to smoke then.”

“He did.” You zip the bag and stand, the textbook on your other hand as you stretch.

Bucky’s gaze remains on you, mesmerized by your youthful and relaxed figure. The wrinkled t-shirt that lifts as you raise your arms, the men sports shorts that _somehow,_ you’re able to make look good, your messy hair and your bare feet against the metal of the fire escape. So innocent and simple. He wishes he ever got to live like this.

You mistake Bucky’s staring for curiosity, so you continue, “Oh, that’s not my story to tell. You’ll have to ask him.”

Bucky’s eyes advert to the ground and he accepts the bag when you hand it to him.

You throw the textbook through the window and lean against the balustrade, “You okay, Buck? Feeling good? Do you wanna leave, wait it out here, call Sam… Smoke another? I’d offer you something to eat, but all I got are energy bars.” You scratch your chin in thought, mumbling to yourself, “God, I need to go grocery shopping.”

“No, I’m good.” Bucky replies, glancing at your form as he stands as well, “Thanks again. It… it helped.”

“I’m glad it did. Oh and uh, let me know if you like the rest. If you don’t, I can get you another kind. I think that’ll last you-” You cross your arms and lean down, studying the bag in Bucky’s hand as you hum for a couple seconds, “-about a week? If you smoke daily.” You look at Bucky for a few seconds, observing as his cheeks flush under your gaze. A soft chuckle eases past your lips when the silence stretches, “I like you, Bucky. You’re cool. Unlike the creeps I usually sell to. Hit me up or… stop by, if you need anything.”

Again, Bucky doesn’t know if he’s still intoxicated or if it’s just the homey nature that there is to you that causes a smile to blossom on his plump lips. Not a stiff and uncomfortable smile, but a natural and relaxed one. He nods, gaze flickering to the ground before lifting to your happy features, “I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos, support and encouraging words! Hope you enjoyed it <3


	3. Chapter 3

The next time you see Bucky is exactly a week later. He’s sitting in one of the benches of Washington Square Park with a cap shadowing his face and a jacket covering his torso as always, glancing occasionally at the college students that walk around in shorts and tank tops. A few go as far as bathing in the fountain, looking for relief to the high temperatures. Even from a distance you notice Bucky looking away when the students leave the water soaking wet.

You say goodbye to your friends and skip towards Bucky, the textbooks pressed to your chest by a hand, the other securing the strap of the tote bag on your shoulder.

As you approach him, his eyes widen slightly causing the smirk on your lips to grow into a full smile, “Hey Buck!”

“Hey.” He says quietly, gaze returning to the ground.

You balance on the balls of your feet, “Watchu doin’?”

Bucky shrugs, the hands stuffed inside his jacket’s pocket fidgeting, but before you can continue being nosey, red hair comes into view at your side.

Natasha is carrying two cups filled with lemonade and ice, her fingers curled around the clear plastic. Her wavy locks are perched on her shoulders, a black tank top covering her torso. The skinny jeans hug her curves nicely, and she’s wearing sneakers.

“Hey you.” She bumps your shoulder with hers, “Long time no see, uh?”

Bucky doesn’t make it obvious, but he’s listening to the conversation intently. Natasha’s tone, her posture… He only ever sees her this relaxed around a handful of people. How come you’re one of them?

You groan, “I know Nat! I’m sorry.” The redhead narrows her eyes and you shrug sheepishly, “I’ve been busy?” Your reply only causes her eyes to narrow even further.

Natasha hums, handing one of the cups to Bucky who takes it quickly, mumbling thanks before turning his attention back to the park.

You’re too engrossed in observing Bucky’s profile that Natasha has to clean her throat two times to get your attention. When you look at her, she has that annoying sneaky smirk on her lips, “Were you guys going somewhere?”

At this, Bucky’s head snaps to the redhead, “N-no.”

“Uh-”

“Well, you are now.” She shoves the cup into your chest and releases it, obliging you to grab it before it spills. You stare at her wide eyed as she sends Bucky a reassuring smile and turns to leave.

“W-where are you going?!” He calls desperately, eyes glancing to you when Natasha looks over her shoulder.

“The tower. Tony needs me.” She replies nonchalantly. When Bucky so much as attempts to get up, she’s at his side in a heartbeat, a soft yet demanding hand on his shoulder pushing him back down, “ _I’m_ needed at the Tower, not you Barnes.” Her gaze remains on him for a few seconds before it moves to you, “Have fun.”

Natasha leaves and you’re left alone with Bucky. His head is turned to the side, so you don’t catch the way he bites his bottom lip nervously, fingers twitching around the plastic cup.

A sigh eases past your pursed lips. You thought you’d made some progress with him last week, but then again, he only loosened up after a couple of hits. Time to try a different approach, “Hey.” You poke his arm with your index finger, lips twitching when he glares at you, “Come on, I know somewhere we can go.” You jerk your head to the side, taking a couple steps backwards as you outstretch your unoccupied hand, the other holding the cup while your arm presses the books to your chest.

Going for walks with his weed dealer, is this what his life has come to?

Can he trust you? That’s too one of the questions swirling in Bucky’s head since last week, and now, as he looks from your happy features to your outstretched hand.

When Bucky makes no attempt to take your hand, you sigh and turn, digits curling and hand moving back down. You then feel fingertips ghosting your own, and a small smile immediately tugs at your lips when you glance at Bucky’s flushed face from the corner of your eye.

He engulfs your hand with his, letting you tug him along the sidewalk.

 _Hell_ , if Natasha trusts you, he certainly can too.

[…]

You guided Bucky through the streets, squeezing his hand lightly whenever you’d walk by a crowd, noticing how his demeanor relaxed just because of the reassurance. You both ended up at a secluded part of Central Park you and your friends usually come to whenever you need privacy in a public place. It’s got a few trees scattered throughout the grass and it’s rare for people to walk by.

You let go of Bucky’s hand, much to his displeasure, and sit close to one of the trees, Bucky settling with his back to the trunk, facing you.

“Tell me,” You set the books on the grass, and place the lemonade on top of it. The tote bag is brought to your lap and you fumble with it, hand emerging with a paper bag, “How have you been?”

Bucky stares as you shake the pastry out, snatch a piece and munch on it, dumbfounded that you’d ask such a question, “W-what do you mean?”

You lean forward and offer him the food with a hand, the other holding the cup so your lips envelop the straw, “Are you okay? That’s what I’m asking.”

Bucky hesitates, but eventually tears a piece of the pastry, eyeing you carefully, “Why are you asking that?” He questions firmly.

A light laugh leaves your lips, but it falters quickly once you catch the expression on Bucky’s face, “I-What…” You chuckle sheepishly, eyebrows descending into a frown, “I was just asking, Bucky. I care about you- my clients. My non-creepy clients, I mean. And with all that happened… We don’t have to talk about that. We won’t.” You add quickly when Bucky breaks eye contact and his shoulders tense.

A couple minutes go by of you and Bucky sharing the pastry in silence. His jaw ticks and tenses as he chews the food. It’s got some sort of meat in it, vegetables too, the dough they’re enveloped in melts in his tongue. It’s nice, a sharp contrast to the food they usually have at the Tower. It feels genuine and homey, reminds him of his mother’s cooking back in the 30’s. Bucky wonders if you did it. “I’m okay.”

Your eyes flicker from the nearby skyscraper to him, a small smile blossoming on your lips, “Yeah?” The straw makes its way to your mouth and you sip, licking your lips before you speak softly, “How about the others? At the Tower? I haven’t been there in a while.”

Bucky sips the lemonade as well, “They’re okay too, I think.”

You hum, gaze focused on a green patch of grass, “And Steve?”

Bucky’s eyes narrow a fraction, “You know Steve?”

“Ah, yeah,” You shrug and quickly sip the rest of the drink, “We met once, but I don’t think he liked me very much. ‘Cause you know,” You motion with your index and middle fingers in front of your mouth, mimicking a cigarette.

Bucky snorts lightly. Of course the punk would be wary of you. The messy hair, the comfortable, yet well styled clothes, the casualty with which you speak, but above all, the fact that you smoke “The Devil’s Harvest” so openly is too much for Steve’s mind to handle just yet.

He’s pulled out of his reverie by your voice, “Which reminds me, do you like what I got you?”

The brunette nods and starts to pull out off his back pocket an already rolled joint and a lighter but is stopped abruptly by your hand on his arm, “No, don’t. I mean, you don’t need to.” You nod reassuringly, “I just wanted us to hang out together, we don’t have to smoke.”

Bucky nods again slowly, eyes searching your features. If you’re not going to smoke, then what the hell are you both going to talk about? Bucky doesn’t know how to interact with people like he did before. The guys back at the Tower thankfully already know him and his particularities, making it easier to get by. Small talk and chitchat with strangers though…

You notice the uncertainty that crosses the brunette’s features, but you keep that soft smile on, propping your elbow on your knee, fist against your cheek as your other hand pokes Bucky’s arm lightly, “Can you tell me about before?”

Bucky’s eyes ghost where your finger was, lips twitching slightly when a faint memory of his sister doing the same comes to his mind. His gaze lifts, connecting with your expectant, glinting eyes, “Before?”

“Yeah.” You nod, fingers playing with the corner of one of the textbooks on the grass, “About how it was before the war… You and Steve… Any good memories you’d like to share.” Your head tilts, a crooked, teasing smile plastered on your lips, “Maybe about… your girlfriends?”

A blush spreads across Bucky’s cheeks and neck, the red tips of his ears showing when he nervously tucks the hair behind them, “I didn’t- uh…” He clears his throat, but a grin tugs at his lips nonetheless, eyes strained on his hands and fingers fumbling with each other on his lap.

“Oh come on… I know you were a lady’s man back then. I’m messing with you though.” You chuckle lightheartedly, head tilting and gaze searching his, “Tell me about Brooklyn.”

Bucky nods, casting you a glance before he starts, “It was hum, different... Some buildings are still there, like where the Rogers’ used to live or my aunt’s café.” The first hint of a smile ghosts his lips, head shaking slightly, “We used to go there a lot.” Your attention doesn’t waver and Bucky notices, eyes examining the way your eyes crinkle and lips stretch with a smile, “She made these amazing waffles specifically for Steve and I. God, she loved the punk.” He mumbles to himself before flinching when your fingers grip his wrist. You pull, guiding him next to you on the grass. Bucky moves to your side and follows your lead when you lean back and close your eyes. He observes for a second how your hair intertwines with the green grass, his own chocolate locks displayed like a halo around his head.

“Describe it. I’d like to know what it was like.”

Bucky faces forward, the bright blue of the sky filling his vision before he closes his eyes too. He can almost hear his aunt’s voice and the sound of dishes clinking together. The smell of the waffles and the sweet taste on his tongue, the hip decor of the place and the familiar faces around. The sun hitting his cheek reminds him of those hot summer days, and the warmth of your hand still around his wrist of the physical touch he craves so much.

Bucky talks for over an hour and he doesn’t even notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this written for like ever, idk why I didn't post it, I'm sorry! Hope you guys enjoy it! Any feedback or suggestions are welcome! xx


	4. Chapter 4

_Good afternoon. I was hoping we could meet today, since I am out of_

“ _‘Good afternoon’_? Seriously Barnes?”

Bucky jumps in his seat, quickly pressing the phone to his chest as he glares at Sam over his shoulder. The Falcon purses his lips and pushes himself off the back of the couch, crossing his arms afterwards.

“She’s a twenty-two year old chick, not the goddamn queen of England, man.”

As Sam plops down next to him, Bucky glances back at the phone in his hand. He’s been trying to write a text message to send you for the past half an hour. Something as simple as to ask you for more weed is strangely complicated to him.

The brunette deletes what he just had typed and stares at the blinking cursor.

_Hey._

Sam turns on the TV and switches channels until he settles for a soccer game. The fingers curled around the remote tap rhythmically on his thigh, while his other arm is stretched across the back of the couch. Bucky keeps his eyes on the phone’s screen, but he knows Sam is dying to say something.

“So… You two getting along?”

Bucky huffs and shakes his head slightly, thumb hovering over the keyboard, “Yeah, she’s huh… She’s somethin’ alright.”

Sam’s gaze doesn’t leave the tv, but he sports a boyish grin tilting his full lips. He gestures haphazardly towards the phone in Bucky’s hand and shrugs, “Don’t worry too much about formalities, Barnes.”

Bucky’s eyes move from Sam’s profile to the device in his hand once again.

_Hey. I’m out._

He presses the send button and throws the phone to his side, attempting to focus on the men running on the screen in front of him. Not even a minute later, the device rings and he grabs it, unlocking it swiftly.

_[3:56 p.m:] Hey. I’m out._

_[3:56 p.m:] Heyy come over, cant leave rn_

Bucky purses his lips as he re-reads your reply. Damn kids, their slang and abbreviations. He hesitates for a moment before speaking, not quite in the mood for the Falcon’s taunting, “What does ‘rn’ mean?”

Sam glances at the brunette, the corner of his lips twitching, “Right now.”

Bucky hums, somewhat surprised at Sam’s normal reply, but also the meaning of ‘rn’. Why not just write both words?

He gets up and heads for the elevator, “Later, Wilson.”

 

* * *

 

Bucky’s always surprised when it comes to your antics, but he certainly wasn’t expecting this.

You stand in front of him with that joyous smile of yours tilting your lips. A Hulk-themed apron is tied around your middle, on top of the baggy shirt you’re wearing. The cartoon muscled green torso looks awfully strange around your body since the over sized cloth goes down to your knees. Bucky’s gaze moves from your uncovered legs to your bare feet planted on the wooden floor.

But what surprises Bucky isn’t your fashion choices or the fact that you have Avengers merch, it’s the white powder that litters the apron, your shirt, your hands and even the top of your foot, and the huge bowl of what he assumes is the initial stages of cake batter being held at your side.

“Hey!” You greet breathlessly as you push a few strands off your forehead, smudging flour on the skin meanwhile. Bucky chokes out a greeting and you just stand there for a couple seconds, your gaze causing Bucky to fidget. It doesn’t go unnoticed, so you quickly straighten up and push the door open, “Come in, Bucky. Make yourself at home!” You call over your shoulder as you head back into the kitchen.

Bucky dusts off the white hand print you’d left on the door and closes it behind him, following you into the broader space. He’s been here before but didn’t really pay attention to the organized chaos you’ve got going on. In front of him the several widows extend along the brick wall, one of which has access to the fire escape he got acquainted with last time. The white curtains sway in the breeze that blows softly through the couple of open windows, keeping the room cool despite the high temperatures outside.

To the left, next to the entrance behind Bucky, there’s another door ajar which he presumes is the bathroom after catching a glimpse of his reflection through the gap as he passed by it. He spares a glance to the bed with its sheets falling off placed against the wall, and the couch nearby also sports a few pieces of clothing on its back. There are carpets on the wooden floor between the bed, the couch and the dresser next to it, almost like a pathway. A fluffy, colorful pathway.

The kitchen area is placed to the right, where you stand with your back to Bucky. A package of flour, cartons of milk and eggs are placed across the counters as you whisk away. Bucky tears his eyes from the pile of clothing on the floor at the end of the bed, cheeks flushing and a smirk tugging at his lips when he spots the panties on top, “I’m just uh- I just need the…”

“Weed?” You turn and place the bowl on the small kitchen island, so you can continue to stir the cake batter and look at Bucky, lips twitching when you notice his pink cheeks, “Sorry about the mess, by the way. I don’t usually have guests.” The stirring stops and you touch your phone’s screen, quickly turning around to retrieve the next ingredient. Your eyes lift from the batter to where Bucky is still standing stiffly, “I’ll only take like 5 minutes, you can just- You know?” You round the counter and jog to the couch, gathering the clothing against your chest, before throwing it on top of the bed and gesturing to the cushion. Bucky clears his throat and walks further into the studio apartment as you pick up your laptop and place it on the couch, “Just do whatever, okay? I won’t be long.” You pat his arm when you walk by him, sliding across the floor on purpose when you’re closer to the kitchen.

Five minutes turn into ten, then thirty, and when Bucky glances at his watch it’s been an hour since he’s arrived. His gaze goes from his watch to the magazine on his lap and then to the kitchen where little progress seems to have been made. You stand with a hand on your hip, the fingers of the other picking at the bottom lip trapped between your teeth. The screen on your phone is lit and you stare at it deep in thought.

Bucky uncrosses his legs and throws the magazine to the seat next to him, leaning forward slightly, “Do you.. need help?”

“Hmm?” Your gaze remains on the screen for a few seconds before you turn fully to Bucky, “I guess. If you don’t mind?”

One of the drawers nearby is opened and you pull out an apron. You extend your arms and hold the hoop for the brunette to push his head through, one of your brows lifting when Bucky hesitates. After a few seconds of your intense stare, Bucky complies, crossing the room to where you stand. You slide the hoop around his neck and motion for Bucky to turn, the tips of your fingers pressing just a tad on his hips.

Bucky’s breathing hitches, but he quickly recovers once he’s facing away, only to find his reflection in the mirror above the dresser: right in the middle of his chest a white star on top of the blue of Steve’s uniform that spans most of the apron.

Just as you finish to tie the red colored laces on his back, Bucky turns once again, a brow raised in amusement, “Really? Can’t I have the Hulk one?”

A smirk parts your lips as you tilt your head slightly, eyes roaming the apron. You bring your gaze to Bucky’s, “No. Blue is your color, Bucky. Matches your eyes.”

Bucky watches as you smooth a non-existent wrinkle on his chest, his eyes focused on the way your eyelashes fan across your cheeks.

 The brunette’s eyes snap back to yours when you hand him the bowl and the wooden spoon.

“C’mon, we got a cake to make.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments and feedback make my days ❤️ love you all!  
> More juicy chapters to come xx


	5. Chapter 5

The elevator’s screech is heard seconds after you press the floor number, along with the buzzing of the lamp providing the dim lightning inside.

While Bucky is careful not to touch anything around him, either by fear of it falling apart or the cleanliness of it, you have your back to the railing casually, both hands on it as you press the cake box to your side.

He clears his throat, “Where uh…  Where are we going?” Bucky asks, trying to sound nonchalant even though he’s been rehearsing the question since you both left your apartment with no explanation.

Your head resting against the wooden wall of the elevator, lulls to the side. You shrug and look around before focusing on Bucky, “To Kam’s. It’s her birthday today and she’s throwing a party.” The confusion and then panic that flash across Bucky’s face has you narrowing your eyes, “I thought I’d told you. Shit, didn’t I tell you?”

“No-”

The elevator comes to a stop and the doors open. Bucky’s mouth is pressed into a line, heart beating frantically. In the 40’s he would’ve loved this, but now? Even Steve’s team reunions are usually too much for him.

Your posture straightens immediately and your brows furrow, “Fuck, Bucky, I’m sorry.” You groan and rub your eyes, muttering under your breath, “ _I gotta smoke less of that shit.”._ Your hand drops and you look back at Bucky, “Hey hum, this was my fault, I totally understand if you don’t wanna go. I can just uh- We can go back, it’s fine-”

The elevator’s doors start closing, but Bucky waves in front of the sensor, interrupting your rambling as well. He tries to ignore the way his hand shakes, and how he suddenly feels too tight in these clothes, “I’ll go.”

“Buck-”

“Yeah.” He swallows, “I’ll have to… you know, get over it…” The brunette replies quietly, nodding his head slowly.

You sigh silently and then force a smile, looking up at him with your head slightly tilted as you back out of the elevator, “I promise you’ll have fun.”

Bucky nods and follows you down the corridor, trying his best to make his facial expression friendlier. The scowl he usually sports isn’t the best look when trying to make acquaintances.

He stands fidgeting behind you as you knock on the door. The sound of voices and music is faintly heard outside, but it’s quickly amplified seconds later when the door is opened. Kamala stands on the other side, her brown hair disheveled as usual although she wears a fancier outfit. Her red rimmed eyes flicker to Bucky before settling on you as you give her a hug and wish her a happy birthday.

“Remember Bucky?” You ask excitedly, a goofy grin etched onto your lips as you glance at the brunette, “I brought him with me, hope you don’t mind. He made the cake by the way!”

“Yeah, sure. I’m super glad you guys could make it.” Kamala replies in her calm voice, a knowing smirk tilting her lips almost imperceptibly. It widens when Bucky wishes her a quiet happy birthday and you hand her the cake box, “Come in.”

The atmosphere inside the modest apartment is one Bucky hasn’t experienced in decades. The music playing is familiar, songs he’s pretty sure he has heard being played around the Tower, Sam referring to the genre as something along the lines of _80’s_. There are several people dispersed throughout the living room, most of them teenagers who immediately shout your name and perform some kind of handshake with you as you both walk by.

Some people sway back and forth on the improvised dance floor, which consists of the space left when the couches were pushed back, while a few others sit on those couches with their legs outstretched, heads bobbing to the rhythm. Kamala squeezes past you two and pushes a couple boys outside to the balcony, shouting _“No smoking inside guys, c’mon!”_ as you turn towards the kitchen with Bucky close to your side. Stacked and dispersed on top of the kitchen island are innumerous pizza boxes, hopefully enough to feed the twenty plus people mingling around, as well as abandoned plastic cups and napkins occupying the empty spaces in between. On the lengthy counter under the cabinets there’s an extensive amount of alcohol bottles, the different colored labels being examined by a dark-haired boy who eventually settles for a cheap vodka, the smell irradiating from the liquid when he pours it into a cup making Bucky’s nostrils burn. On the other far end of the counter, next to the fridge, Johnny stands with his back to you, fidgeting with something in top of the surface.

Bucky watches as you skip ahead of him and round the island, throwing your arms around the blonde man’s shoulders. He turns and hugs you fully, his arms surrounding your waist as an unlit cigarette hangs from his lips.

The public and nonchalant display of affection only causes Bucky to feel even _weirder_. His blue eyes flicker around, and he occasionally glances over his shoulder as you chat with Johnny, his metal fingers twitching involuntarily. No one seems to notice him, but he can’t help but feel incredibly out of place in the middle of these teenagers and people ten years younger than him. Like he’s chaperoning a bunch of kids.

He’s not as nervous as he thought he’d be though. Bucky doesn’t know if it’s because he feels relaxed around you, or if he’s making progress overall, but he no longer gets cold sweats when near crowds, and physical contact doesn’t make him nervous. At least not when it’s your skin against his.

Johnny mumbles something that causes you to roll your eyes before you motion Bucky closer. The blonde extends his hand towards Bucky and smiles around the cigarette, “Sup dude? I see she managed to drag you along.” Bucky can’t help a smile from blossoming on his lips as Johnny snorts after successfully dodging a punch you attempt at his arm, removing the cigarette from his lips afterwards. He moves to the side, exposing a pan of what Bucky assumes to be chocolate brownies, judging from the look and smell, although there’s something else familiar yet out of place in the aromas that filter through his nose. A boyish grin resurfaces on the blonde man’s features and he nods towards it, “Want some?”

Your eyes widen, lips parting in an almost mischievous smile, “Is that-?”

“You bet it is.” Johnny nods as he replies, throwing a piece of the brown cake onto his mouth.

“Fuck yeah.” You breathe, gaze fixed on the pan. Your eyes glance at Bucky, before turning to the blonde, “Save us a couple pieces, would you?”

Bucky frowns slightly at your enthusiasm for the brownies, but that quickly vanishes from his mind when you loop your arm through his and shuffle your way to the balcony. You take a deep breath when you’re finally outside, arms extending to the side as your eyes close momentarily. The sun is going down, casting the city in an orangey glow.

The warm breeze rustles your hair softly when you turn to Bucky, “You okay?”

The brunette nods, eyes following a couple boys who go back inside, “Yeah.”

A frown crosses your features for a second, but soon you have closed the distance between the two of you and grabed the sleeve of his jacket. You pull Bucky towards a wooden bench near the balustrade and sit on it, a leg folded underneath you while your other foot is on the ground. You take a joint out of your back pocket and place it between your lips, lighting it up and taking a deep drag from it afterwards. Bucky stills for a second when you scoot closer to him and hold the joint between your fingers as a silent invitation.

The songs playing alternate several times as you two sit in the balcony, the muffled sounds from the inside cutting through the silence around you. Soon, the sun has gone down in the distance behind the skyscrapers of Manhattan and the city begins to lighten up.

Bucky’s stubbing the end of the second joint when he feels something touch his side. When he turns, you’ve got your head resting on his shoulder, fingers tucking a couple locks behind your ear. After a few seconds of mild surprise, Bucky allows himself to relax, only to be bewildered when you speak.

“I like you Bucky.”

The brunette stares at your face but from this angle he can only see your eyelashes flutter above your cheeks. He clears his throat, hoping to gain some composure despite the smoke crawling inside his lungs, “W-What do you mean?”

Bucky slaps himself mentally after the words exit his mouth, but his attention immediately turns to you when you straighten up suddenly and swing a leg over the bench, your body now turned to Bucky. He can feel the warmth of your leg near his, his eyes lifting from that place to connect with your red rimmed ones.

Your eyes are twinkling as they study his face, a lazy smile parting your lips slightly, “I’m happy Sam introduced us.”

Any hesitation or nervousness Bucky might’ve felt evaporates from his being with each passing second, either due to what you’re admitting, or the weed. He can only look at your profile as a contented sigh eases past your nose, head now turned towards the buildings that span the entire view. A smile of his own starts to pull at his lips when yours doesn’t falter, not even for a second as you admire the lit up city.

Bucky is lighting one of his joints when you turn to him once again, head slightly tilted, “Aren’t you?” A dark brow is lifted, so you elaborate, “Happy. Aren’t you happy we met?”

He blows the smoke upwards and places the joint between your lips, a teasing smile parting his. The brunette leans towards you as your mouth clenches around the joint, but when his opens to speak, a much younger and thin voice is heard instead.

“Oh- I’m sorry, I thought you, uh-”

Both your heads snap to the balcony door where Peter stands, a hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

Bucky straightens back up slowly as you laugh and motion the kid over, “It’s okay, Pete. Everything alright?” The boy nods and sits next to you, glancing at the other man in the process. You tilt the joint towards Peter, but he politely declines so you pass it back to Bucky, “Whatchu doing here? I thought you were busy with… you know, the stuff Tony gave you?”

Peter huffs a nervous laugh and shrugs, “Just here for a few hours. Michelle kinda made me come.”

“’Course she did.” You reply with a chuckle. You accept the blunt from Bucky and take a drag, giving it back as you blow the smoke away from Peter and put an arm around his shoulders, “We’re gonna have fun tonight, ain’t that right?” When Bucky’s blue gaze connects with yours and he lifts a brow, you lift one as well mockingly and glance at Peter, “You two have met right?”

“Yeah,” Peter leans forward slightly with his arm bent at the elbow and waves, “Hey Mr. Barnes.”

You muffle a chuckle when Bucky rolls his eyes, a smirk parting his full lips, “It’s Bucky.”

 

* * *

 

Two brownies and an hour later, Bucky’s completely wasted. You are too, but your demeanor doesn’t change as much as his does.

The jacket he’s been wearing for the past few days is no longer around his form. Bucky stands only in a black long-sleeved shirt that hugs his torso nicely, or at least he thinks it does from the looks some of the girls and guys have started to send his way. The tight glove doesn’t leave his metal hand but everyone, including himself, is too altered to care and it’s no problem as he flips over the red cup successfully. The plastic lands on the table and sends a few beer drops flying as the teenagers around cheer and erupt into laughter when across from Bucky, Kamala fails once again.

Bucky pushes a strand of hair behind his ear, the rest of it arranged into a bun where a few braided pieces mix with the straight brown locks. He watches in slight wonder you down the beer in a second and flip the cup successfully immediately after.

Save for Johnny who whines towards Kam, everyone erupts into happy shouts that in pair with the clapping, drown the music playing. Next Bucky knows you’re pulling him into a hug, a loud and intoxicated “ _You’re the fucking best!”_ being said close to his ear.

He feels good, happy, relaxed and _liked_. Part of it has to do with the excessive amount of weed he has consumed today, but it’s also due to you. To the easy going feel that there is to you. To the way you make people feel wanted. To the way you make _Bucky_ feel wanted.

You pull back, the grin stretching your lips causing Bucky’s own smile to widen. When he so much as feels your fingertips ghosting his, he fully envelops your hand with no second thoughts as you pull him towards the makeshift dance floor. The several teenagers have settled down after your epic win of flip cup, and are now occupying the area as well, heads bobbing and feet moving to the 80’s song rhythm.

You sway from side to side without a care in the world, feet kicking up in the air and arms flailing around. Your hair swishes around your features, eyes closed with your hand still intertwined with Bucky’s. His body moves back and forth as well, the upbeat song guiding his movements unconsciously. Something in his heart flutters when your eyes connect with his and your lips stretch in a gentle, sweet smile. For a second, he wonders if the fast beating of his heart is normal, but such thoughts vanish from his mind when suddenly you’re tucking yourself against his side and turning you both to where Peter stands with a Polaroid camera. Bucky faintly hears the _Say cheese!_ before a bright flash illuminates his vision. He notices Peter walking away shortly after, fanning the photograph in the air, but you’re already pulling him back into the dance floor.

It’s hours later, when most of the people have left, that Peter approaches him. Bucky stands in the doorway silently, observing you give a tight goodbye hug to Kamala when he hears the boy’s quiet voice, his pale arm extended in front of him, “Here.” Peter sends him a knowing smile before brushing past Bucky, a brunette girl that looks at him funny trailing behind the teen.

The following day, Steve gets curious after catching Bucky clutching the mysterious piece of paper in his hands several times throughout the day. He crosses his arms and leans against the kitchen counter, next to where Sam is making a cup of coffee, “What’s up with him?”

The Falcon glances to where Steve just nodded towards, a warm chuckle causing his shoulders to shake as he looks back down at the mug. In the area outside the kitchen, Bucky sits at the long glass table in silence, gaze focused on the book in front of him. Sam shakes his head slightly, a smile still stretching his full lips. Bucky wouldn’t show the picture to anyone, not even when Natasha threatened him with her tasers, so Sam sneaked in his room while the brunette was training and got to see the photo. He got to see how close to each other you two are in the picture, sides pressed together. How your arm surrounds Bucky’s waist, fingers resting on top of the black fabric that covers his torso. His _metal_ arm is around your shoulders and your fingers are intertwined in the air with his gloved ones. Your smile is easy and happy, your reddened eyes focused on the camera lens, while Bucky’s are focused on you. The brunette’s head is turned, his profile on display due to the pulled back hair, but the look he’s sending your way, the dopiest smile tilting his lips and causing his eyes to wrinkle, is a look Sam knows too well.

Sam grabs his mug and pats Steve’s shoulder, smile widening with the blonde’s confused features, “Don’t worry about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys had great holidays, and here's to a happy 2019 filled with love! 
> 
> I actually really like how this chapter turned out, hope you all do as well :)  
> Love your comments and feedback, always ❤️ thank you for the support! xx


	6. Chapter 6

_“Two men were found dead in an alley in Manhattan last night, close to the Lower East Side neighborhood. Authorities are working on identifying the victims, however their affiliation with the crime lord Wilson Fisk has been noted. Pedestrians claim to have witnessed someone leaving the scene moments before the NYPD arrived, but no suspects have been taken under arrest. We’ll be keeping you updated to the minute-”_

Tony mutes the TV and sends a questioning look at his teammates, “Thoughts?”

Clint shrugs and waves a hand in the air nonchalantly, pushing himself off his place against the wall, “Are we sure this wasn’t the Devil’s work?”

“Daredevil, and no… Killing is not really his style.” Tony replies, his eyes focused on the high-tech tablet on his hand.

Steve places his elbows on top of the long wooden table of the meeting room, “Is this something we should be worried about?”

“That’s what I’m looking into, old man. I’m accessing every hospital’s records for…” Tony’s voice dies in his throat, his eyes flickering over the screen’s surface. His mouth presses into a thin line and his head shakes lightly, a long sigh easing past his nostrils. In one swipe, the TV’s screen is occupied with pictures of both men’s bodies in the morgue, several of them close ups of the injuries that mar their skin. Tony’s eyes move from the screen to the other avengers, a finger lifting to point briefly at the images, “ _That_ was definitely _not_ Daredevil.”

After a few moments of silence, Tony swipes away the imagery and continues, “According to the hospital files, these guys show signs of head trauma and chocking. One of them had his airways close to crushed, and the other a fatal brain hemorrhage, but no sign of head fracture. Besides the broken nose and jaw.” His head lifts from the tablet and he crosses his arms, sitting on the chair at the head of the table. The TV turns black when Tony places the tablet on top of the wooden tabletop, turning in the chair a couple times before he stops and looks questioningly at his teammates.

Clint’s features are pulled into a frown as he steps forward and whispers something to Natasha, before leaving the room silently with his phone in hand. She straightens in her seat, gaze surveying the room, “I don’t think this is worth our attention.”

Tony nods slowly, both his brows rising, “It does look like a common New York city crime, although the injuries are… particular. But it’s not exactly a _bad_ thing that some of Wilson Fisk’s goons were taken care of, is it?”

When Steve opens his mouth, Bucky knows a deep discussion is about to ensue. As much as he treasures the Captain’s friendship and everything he’s done for him, Bucky tunes out. The image of you dancing fills his mind instead, and the ghost of a smile crosses his full lips. The flashing lights illuminating your features and the sway of your hips. The feeling of your hands pressed together, or the warmth of your body against his when you hugged him carelessly.

Bucky misses you.

And that feeling causes his features to twist into a frown.

He shouldn’t feel that. Should he?

Steve says he deserves to live the life he has. To be happy.

But you’re... young. Innocent. Joyful. Everything he’s not.

Yet he feels at ease when he’s with you. The self-destructing thoughts he so often has during his day, seem to evaporate as soon as he sets his eyes on those sweet smiles you send his way, and the brush of your shoulder against his as you walk is enough to calm his heart when it starts beating too fast.

You. You make him happy.

“-waste time with this.”

“I gotta agree with her, Rogers.” Tony shrugs, “No reports like this one on the closest neighborhoods. Little Italy, Bowery, East Village, _et cetera,_ all safe. Or safe-ish. _And_ I-”

_East Village._

Something clicks in Bucky’s head.

He stands abruptly, the chair’s wheels scraping against the floor. The brunette cleans his throat when he feels everyone’s gazes on him, “I, uh-” He glances at Steve, the blonde sitting at his side with a puzzled expression on his features.

You live in East Village, and the crime was nearby. He hasn’t heard from you since the party two days ago, and he needs to check up on you. Or at least that’s the argument Bucky uses to internally justify his actions when he decides to leave, “I need to go… somewhere.” Bucky exits the room, his quick strides towards the elevator seen through the glass. Every head turns to Steve, but the blonde can only shrug.

 

* * *

  

In less than 30 minutes, Bucky has made his way to the modest brick building where you live. He purposely walks through the alleyway below the fire escapes of the building, glancing at the open window of your apartment where the white curtains are draped over, swaying softly in the breeze.

Bucky climbs the stairs two at a time, not being able to keep a giddy smile from blossoming on his lips as he does so. The excitement makes his heart beat faster and faster as he approaches the door at the end of the corridor.

The brunette cleans his throat quietly and takes off the baseball cap shadowing his features, running a hand through the straight locks. Bucky rolls his eyes at himself and huffs.

The couple of knocks echo through the silent hallway for a few seconds before shuffling is heard on the other side of the door.

Only part of your face is visible through the gap when you open the door, the chain keeping it from opening all the way, “Bucky?”

His smile falters slightly at the hoarse sound of your voice, but Bucky keeps his lips tilted, even when your brows descend into a frown, “Yeah. Hi.”

You swallow and glance at the floor, “Do y-you need anything?”

The faint smile ghosting Bucky’s lips is now unsure as he observes your unusual stance, “No, I uh…” He glances at the chain and shifts in place, “You gonna…?”

Your gaze ghosts his before the door is closed. You come into view again after a few seconds, but you keep only a gap open. Your head is bowed, and our eyes don’t still anywhere else other than the floor for more than two seconds, leg bouncing almost imperceptibly while your hand grips the door harshly.

_Your hand._

The smile that might’ve been lingering on Bucky’s lips vanishes completely as he stares at your knuckles. The bruises purple and red, several scrapes littering the area.

“You’re hurt.” It’s barely a whisper but it’s loud enough for you to hear, hand retracting behind the door in one swift motion when Bucky reaches for it. Wide, cerulean eyes snap from where the marred skin was to you, your eyes equally as big staring back at his. And then Bucky sees it. Your eyes are red and puffy, but not from smoking as he thought initially. They’re watery too, tears still coating your lower lash line, “W-what happened?”

His voice is soft as he takes a step forward, but you flinch and close the door further, “No, Bucky, don’t.”

It’s like a bucket of cold water is dumped over his head. Bucky is frozen in place, eyebrows pulled together as his mouth opens and closes a couple times before speaking, “Did I-Did I do something wrong-?”

“No, no.” You sniff, silent tears now running down your face as you lean against the wall. Your eyes are cast down, shoulders shaking with the sobs that rip through your throat. You slam an angry fist on the wooden door, an angry huff following as you swipe the back of your hand under your nose harshly. For a few seconds your body only trembles, “I don’t know if-” You say to yourself, voice cracking with a sob, “I don’t know if I can do this anymore, I don’t…” Bucky watches emotionless as you place your palms against your face and double over, slowly descending into a seating position on the floor. Soft and muffled cries then fill the silence.

Bucky barely hears your sobs with how loud his heart is beating in his ears. He attempts a step forward once again to try and hold you, comfort you, _anything_ , but is stopped by your hand in the air, “Please _don’t_ come near me, Bucky.” You say, voice muffled and hoarse. Your head lifts and Bucky gets a full view of your red eyes and flushed nose, cheeks damp from the tears that run down the skin, “Just go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would ya look at that! I updated this fic!  
> I've actually had this chapter written for a long ass time (since I first posted this fic long), but I wasn't too sure about it till now ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Anyway, I really hope you guys enjoyed it! Feedback is appreciated as always ❤️ 
> 
> PS. Hope y'all got your End Game tickets ready, bc I certainly do and I ain't ready for what's coming


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky was expecting silence for a day, maybe two, but a week goes by with no news from you and his easygoing mood around the Tower with it.

These past few days have been… bad to say the least. He’s been holed up in his room 24/7, only leaving for the daily sparring with the others, so they wouldn’t ask any questions. So, when Sam teases him as usual, the reply voiced through gritted teeth he gets from Bucky is an unexpected contrast to the easy going banter he thought the brunette had embraced.

Bucky didn’t say a word to anyone about what happened when he returned from your apartment that day, and he has kept it that way. But now, your familiar figure stands right in front of him as he opens the door to his room.

He’s shocked and surprised, emotions that quickly morph into anger and hurt but don’t keep the butterflies from resurfacing in his belly, “What’re you doing here?” Bucky hisses, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you inside his room, “If Tony sees you-”

“Tony knows I’m here.” You reply, a grin plastered on your lips as you gaze at Bucky’s hardened features. He keeps glaring at you and the grip he has on your upper arm remains firm and tight, causing your smirk to falter, “You’re hurting me.”

Bucky releases your arm as if it burns and steps back, mumbling an apology without looking at you. His mouth in a tight line as his gaze returns to yours, awaiting an explanation.

Slowly, your lips descend into a frown, eyes focused on your worn out shoes upon the wooden floor, “I wanted to apologize… about the other day. I was-” You pause, a quiet sigh leaving your mouth as your head turns to the side, “Listen, I’m sorry about the way I acted. You don’t have to put up with my shit.” You shift in place for a second before reaching forward and taking Bucky’s hands in yours.

Bucky’s eyes are wide, gaze jumping from where your bruised hand grabs his metal one. A shaky breath leaves his parted lips when you switch the angle so now your fingers are intertwined, clearly sensing his uncertainty, “It wasn’t your fault Bucky, it has _nothing_ to do with you.” You say, words leaving your mouth fast, almost desperately.

“ _What_ happened?” Bucky asks slowly. His eyes search yours, now cast down, and he calls your name reassuringly, “You can tell me.”

Your hand slips from Bucky’s as you step back with your head shaking. Walking further into the room, you sit at the end of his bed. Your fingers grasp the white sheet and your head shakes lightly, “No.”

Bucky sighs, hand twitching with the loss of warmth. He sits next to you, head slightly tilted, “You know you can talk to me.”

A shaky sigh leaves your mouth while you keep shaking your head, tears prickling in your eyes. You smile at Bucky’s words though, “I know, Buck, but I can’t. Please understand.” You sniff, fingers rubbing the skin under your eyes, “Don’t make me say it.”

When you lift your head, Bucky sees your teary eyes and decides to drop the subject on the spot. You’ll tell him eventually, when you’re ready, he thinks. And besides, Bucky doesn’t want to see you cry again. “Oka-” The second his lips part, you got your arms around him in a tight, swift hug that ends before Bucky even realizes it happened.

The brunette leads you to the common room silently afterwards, but he observes how you try to erase any traces of what happened off your face. You both arrive to the center of the room, the sunlight reflecting off the marble flooring. You lean against the couch’s back and turn to Bucky, one of your hands rubbing over the dark leathery material of the cushion.

“So,” A grin returns to your lips, but your eyes are still bloodshot as you reach for the tote bag hanging on your shoulder and remove a small see-through bag, a generous amount of green buds inside, “I brought gifts.” You wave the bag in front of Bucky’s face, but pull it back swiftly when he reaches for it, “Just kidding, these aren’t for you.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, a crease forming between his brows right after, “How did you get past security? And _who_ are those for?” He asks, eyes now narrowed as he stares at you.

You shrug, a snort leaving your nose, “Stark. Why do you think he’s gone all soft?”

The brunette’s shoulders tense at your words for barely a second, before curiosity and even relief ease his mind. So, Tony smokes, uh? That’s new.

You shrug, an apologetic look on your features as you reach for your tote once again, “Anyways…” Your hand reappears with a joint between your index and middle fingers, your thumb pressing a lighter against the palm of your hand, “You wanna share? Oh, you have not lived unless you’ve smoked one in the balcony, I mean just look at this view! Seriously though, I dunno how you guys-”

Bucky lowers your hand nervously from where it was pointing at the huge windows of the common room, interrupting the rambling, “You should put that away.”

You roll your eyes but comply, throwing the joint and the lighter haphazardly back into the tote bag, “Why?” When Bucky doesn’t reply, you squint, “You’re gonna tell me Sam is the only one who knows?”

“Uh… No..” The brunette stutters, observing your brow rising and your arms crossing over your chest, “Steve-”

“Steve?!” You laugh, dragging your shoes on the shiny floor and tightening your crossed arms, “He should join us some time.” Both your brows rise tauntingly before you snatch a joint and hold it out to Bucky, “Take it, Buck. Free of charge. For what happened th-”

“Hey, kiddo! How long you been here?”

You turn around just as Clint is descending the stairs, hand slapping the joint against Bucky’s chest before morphing the motion into a wave, “What’s up old man?”

Bucky watches dumbfounded as Clint approaches you and throws an arm around your shoulders, ruffling your hair afterwards, “This _old man_ could kick your ass, you know?” His eyes jump from you to Bucky suspiciously a couple times, “You two know each other?”

Before Bucky can open his mouth, you answer, “Yeah, Sam introduced us.”

“Huh.” Clint narrows his eyes, index finger wiggling from you to Bucky, “Have you two been _smoking_?”

When Bucky notices the fallen joint forgotten on the floor in front of his boots and decides to hide it by stepping on it, a noise of protest escapes your throat. Quickly, you turn it into a cough and continue, “Pfffff, seriously?” You glare at Bucky who has the look of a deer caught in headlights, “No, my dear uncle, we have not been smoking.” You lie nonchalantly, although you’re pretty sure Clint knows. He always does.

Bucky nearly chokes upon hearing the word _uncle_ leaving your mouth, earning a couple side glances from you and Clint at his strangled and muffled coughing.

“Sure…” Clint pinches your skin and chuckles when you attempt to elbow him in the ribs. His arm falls from your shoulders, “Well, I’ll leave you to it then.”

“No need Legolas, I was leaving anyways. Just need to meet up with Tony first.”

“ _Legolas_? You’ve definitely been spending way too much time around Stark.” His smirk turns into a curious smile, “Is it about the scholarship?”

“Eh, something like that?”

As Bucky’s eyes narrow, one of Clint’s brows rises. His mouth opens but closes again right after. Clint shakes his head and waves a hand dismissively, “You know what? I don’t even want to know.” He turns away, heading up the stairs, “Visit more often! Nat misses you.”

Bucky is finally able to breathe properly as he observes Clint disappear upstairs. His stunned eyes move to where the stained tip of your Converse shoe is nudging his boot.

“Did you seriously step on the blunt I gave you?” Your head is cast down, eyes no doubt staring at the crushed joint, its whitish paper a stark contrast against the dark floor.

Bucky’s lips open and close as you bend down and pick the joint off the floor. He snaps his mouth shut, simply watching as you blow on it and roll it between your index and thumb for a few seconds, attempting to give it its shape back. You place it on Bucky’s outstretched hand and start walking backwards, “See you later.”

When his eyes lift from the joint on his hand and search your form again, the elevator’s doors are already closing, “Oh, and Bucky? Thank you.” One of your smiles is sent his way before the doors close completely.

Bucky sighs as he flops on the couch and cards his flesh hand through his brown locks, a smile tilting his lips nonetheless.

You’re his pot dealer, crush… and Clint Barton’s niece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dude, I went back and forth with this chapter for so so long! Hope it answered some of your questions, and there's definitely more of the reader's backstory/life/person (!) to be revealed ;)  
> As always, thank you so much for all the comments and kudos! ❤️xx


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